The Process (Part 1)

So I've decided that too few people outside of the theatre world (and a great many inside of it) don't understand what goes into a theatrical design. In the interest of education and having something blog about, I'm going to chronicle the design process I take for a show that's running in the spring. The show in question is Rag and Bone by Noah Haidle. Set and light design will be covered.

First Steps

Obviously, the very first thing to happen is to get hired/picked/whatever. I'm leaving this part out on purpose. If you've had a job, you probably know generally how this part works. If you don't have a job, watch this for some handy tips.

I like to have an idea of what the director's looking for before I read the script. Nothing specific, just basic questions about the balance of realism and presentationalism. (wikipedia acting article helpful if you can't tell the difference) Some other basic direction is often helpful.

Contrary to popular belief, designers do, in fact, read the script (usually). (kidding. mostly.)
Design teachers say you should read the script a bunch of times for lots of different things. Each reading should have a singular focus. For example. the first reading should be for entertainment only.
This doesn't really work for me. My brain goes too many places at once. I inevitably find myself making note of things from a design standpoint when I'm supposed to be pretending to be an audience member.

In any case, I read the show and let it percolate in my brain a while. I'll probably do a second reading from another headspace where I'll allow myself to jot down a few notes.

By this point I generally know where I'm going with the set design. So it's time to sketch!
I tend to work in notes and quotes from the show with my rough sketches. Directors don't always see these. I may want to hide parts of them or they may emphasize incorrectly directions I don't actually intend to take. In this case, I did show my first roughs to the director.

These I did with one reading, and a skim for reminders and themes:



So not bad, but not totally solidified.
So I read it again, and sketched again.



Now I wait for feedback.

Transit Face

So those of you who live in a city or take public transportation anywhere are probably already familiar with something I like to call Transit Face.
You know, the way you slack your face and unfocus your eyes while on the train, bus or whatever.
Everyone does it.
The thing is, most of the time the Face is a lie - although you look like you're spacing out you're actually more present, paying attention to people on the train for one reason or another.
I wonder why we all do this. Is it a defense mechanism? How do others feel towards those loud and/or annoying people who violate the Transit Face Social Contract? Are they perturbed by them because they're annoying or because they aren't spaced out like they're supposed to be?
Do the people who design these transit vehicles think about the social implications of the arrangement of space? Are we supposed to interact, but somehow have subverted their intentions?

Anyways, that's all for now. I need to write about work and stuff, but that deserves another post.
r/

"I love you"

There are amazing weeks, and then there are weeks that are not so amazing.

Unfortunately, this week has been the latter.

Even so, Stewart made my day/year/life today. Just when I had about hit rock bottom, he ran up to me out of nowhere with a huge hug. "I love you, Ms. Block!" he said. "I love you, too, Stewart!" He held on for a bit, then walked over to his grandfather who came to pick him up.

Stewart always has the perfect timing.

A New Hope

Sharita wouldn't stand out in a crowd. She is quiet but attentive, shy until you get to know her. When she smiles, it's as if the world is a new, brighter place. Her smile, despite the bleakest of days, always gives me hope.

I met Sharita the first week of school. I had 190 students to assess for reading, and she was one of the first students that read for me. As a fifth grader, she barely read on a 3rd grade reading level. One of my college professors told me that you can tell what students you will connect with because of their personality. He was right. The minute Sharita and I met, we hit it off. Over the past two months, she has practically become my adopted daughter.

Then again, that fact can be attributed to more than her personality. Sharita is homeless. Both mom and dad are out of the picture. She is only 10, yet she has taken full responsibility of herself. She's only missed two days of school thus far, and that was because her homeless shelter had her hospitalized for an asthma attack. More important than her attendance is the fact that she comes to school to learn. Few students put as much heart into everything they do.

When I asked, "Why is this class important?" one of the first days of class, Sharita's response is something that has stuck with me every since. She said, "This class is important because it will get me out of the homeless shelter. If I can read, I can do anything." Since then, she and I have been working together on everything from phonics to reading comprehension. This week I have been assessing my students to see if they have made any progress toward the Big Goal. I was both excited and nervous to see the results, particularly Sharita's. After she had read several stories for the WRAP test, aced the phonics survey, and identified 287 of Fry's 300 Instant Sight Words, I could hardly believe the results.

Sharita has grown two years in reading over four weeks of instruction. She is seriously, honestly on the fifth grade reading level.

When I told her the results, tears came to her eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Block," she kept saying. "No, thank you!" I said back, trying not to cry. "Of course, this isn't good enough." Sharita looked confused. "Now we have to get you on a seventh grade reading level!" Both of us laughed and hugged.

But I wasn't kidding. Sharita's progress has given me a new hope: not only can I catch as many of my students up to grade level as possible, but I can also push them ahead.

Take that, achievement gap.

Aaaah!

I'm completely overwhelmed and stressed right now.
Two shows, one week.
Yay.
In other news, I'm dumb.
These make me happy though:

Why I Teach for America

Stewart is a 6-year-old first grader who is in Special Education because he is emotionally disturbed. To say his story is disheartening is an understatement. At the age of 3, his mother threw him down a flight of concrete stairs and dragged him back up by his feet. At 4, he witnessed his younger brother being beaten to death with a bat by his father. He's lived in three homes within the past year, and his other siblings are in foster care. Currently, he resides with his stern grandparents, the victim of a life of abuse.

I do not teach Special Education. I am the Reading Specialist, so I strictly work with students who are behind in reading. Stewart entered first grade as a non-reader, mainly because he had little knowledge of phonics. Every morning, I pick Stewart up to work with him one-on-one for thirty minutes. And on more than one occasion, he has been my reason for not missing a single day of school.

I guess you could say we have grown quite fond of each other. Even on his worst days, the days when tears seem so easy to come by for him, he runs up to me with a smile. "Ms. Block," he says after every day's lesson, "do I get to see you again tomorrow?" I tell him, "Yes, because you're going to be such a great reader by the end of the year!" And I mean it. He is going to enter the 2nd grade on level in reading (or even ahead) if it is the last thing I do.

The first few weeks of school were rough. We focused on phonics, specifically short vowels. For every book, he would have to segment the phonemes (meaning give the sound for each word), then try to blend the sounds together. It took almost the entire half hour we had to get through a book. The last couple of weeks, I knew his reading was improving. We would have enough time to read a book and follow up with worksheets.

But last week, a miracle happened.

Stewart read whole words correctly without stopping.

I could not contain my excitement. After every sentence he giggled and high-fived me. Both of us could not stop smiling when our lesson was over. Stewart is now a beginning reader!!!

Not every day is as fulfilling as the first day Stewart read whole words. Some days are not even close. But in that moment, I realized that I have a place among all of this. Stewart keeps me coming to school, even after the worst days. However, that is not all.

Stewart, and all of my other students, are why I Teach for America.

Coffeeshop Dreaming...

So lately I've been thinking about the coffee shop I'd like to own/operate/be involved in someday.
I guess there's just so much potential in this neighborhood.
Also, no coffee shops anywhere walkable that are open past 7pm (boo!).
What kind of coffee shop, you ask? Oh ho ho, let me tell you.
I think exposed brick and stainless steel would be major elements visually.
A plethora of chair rail height power outlets, and some recessed floor plugs as well near the couches. Yeah. Couches.
There has to be a performance space, perhaps upstairs. Everything has an upstairs in this town.
And all the barristi would wear shirts from Threadless. In fact, there would be a kiosk and/or a selection of TL shirts on sale.
However, I lack a couple of critical elements to get this off the ground in any realisti. c sense: 1. Money. 2. Any idea how a business actually works.
So for now, just an collection of ideas.

In other news, I'm employed. For a couple of gigs anyways.
What sucks is I'm not sure exactly what I'm doing for either.
Which makes me fear taking on any other commitments because I don't know how much time these will eat up.

Today it is gray and rainy and cold.
r/

Commenting

I just enabled comments for non-registered users.
Hopefully there won't be a spampocolypse.
Instead we'll feel like more people read our blog.

Reading is Power

"Why is this class important?"

This was the prompt that my fifth grade students on a 2nd-3rd grade reading level had to respond to first thing on Friday. It sounds like a fluffy question if you don't know them. I asked it because I know how much they want to find meaning in everything they do--particularly when it comes to school.

After two minutes for response time, I asked them to share out. "This class is important because reading will get me into any college I want to go to," said one student. "This class will help me read the menu when I get to start dating," said another. One of my students, Sharita (whose name has been changed here for privacy) jumps from homeless shelter to homeless shelter, but never complains. "This class will help me live anywhere I want to live," she said. "It will help me be anything I want to be."

"Absolutely," I said. "All of these are great answers. You know another reason this class is important? Your answers touched on it...This class is important because reading is POWER."

I went on to explain how once you can read, there is no stopping you. You can get into any college, be confident on dates (haha), move to a better neighborhood or stick around to change your neighborhood for the best. We went on to read about Mary McLeod Bethune, a black woman who decided at a young age that she would learn how to read. Her mission became teaching other black children and adults how to read. Afterward, we had a discussion about race and education in the U.S. Half of the class knew that not too long ago, your skin color determined whether or not you would learn how to read. The other half had no idea. We talked about the "white kids in the suburbs" (according to one of my students) and how they get to go to Ivy League schools. I asked why my students couldn't go there, and no one had an answer for me. "Exactly," I said. "If you work hard and want to go to Harvard or Yale, you can go, too."

At the end of class, I had them respond to another prompt: "What did you learn today?" Sharita wrote, "Today I learned that I can do anything I want to do, no matter how much money I have." (Mary McLeod Bethune started her school with $1.50 in her pocket.) My favorite response came from Jaquan (whose name has also been changed): "Today I learned that Mary McLeod Bethune started a school for blacks, and that reading can change the world."

I hope I am effective enough as a teacher to give them the power that is reading. I can't wait to see them change the world.

On Reemerging and Settling

So there's internet here again.
There are few words for how exciting this development is for both of us.
Finally, we're starting to feel settled.
There's a before and after album of our house in the works... it'll be posted here when it's done.
Still a lot of irons in the fire... but it's getting better all the time.
Here's a couple stories of note:

Zuul's brother?
So I saw something out the window the other day that about made my heart stop.
Same size. Same color. Same striping.
Zuul's long lost brother?
Maybe.

I made this: desk!

So I wasn't satisfied with any of the desk options I'd found.
And so one day I got inspired and designed a desk.
This is it!
I like it a lot.
It could use a little more work, but for the tools I had available and the talent and space I had, I think I did a pretty good job.

Amanda Palmer

Here are some of the pictures I took at Amanda Palmer's closing show at the Spiegletent.
It was absolutely amazing.
Both times.
Covers of "Material Girl" "Umbrella" and "Hallelujah" (as made famous by Rufus Wainwright).
I've seen a lot of brilliant work here at the Festival.
Trying to cram as much as I can in before I leave.
Only 4 more days!
(and one for travel)

Puzzled

For as long as I can remember, I have viewed life as a puzzle. (Not a puzzle as in a mystery, although that is also part of it.) Life is a puzzle because it's a delicate fitting together of pieces--people, events, places. All of us have different ways to solve a puzzle or piece it together. Some start from the middle and work out. Others, such as myself, begin with the border and hope the rest falls into place.

Perhaps now more than ever, I am hoping that the pieces falls into place.

Cheers from Scotland!

So this is what happens when a lamp rated at 240V isn't seated properly.
Ate. Up.
Fringe is the good.
I really should devote more time and energy to a post about the city, shows I've seen and other things, so that'll come later.
This post is just for the picture.

Trade-offs and Trade-Ins

So my life the past couple of weeks has relied upon Pros/Cons lists. Why stop now?

The new important decision is whether to teach Pre-K or Middle School. Here's the breakdown:

Pre-K
Pros:

• I would love my job, no doubt about it
  
• I have more experience with Pre-K
• No $ would be taken out of my paycheck for emergency certification
• Less grading, more free time
• I will probably get a job in Pre-K sooner than a job in middle school
• I won't have to take more Praxis exams
• I can send my kids to kindergarten as readers!
  
• Pre-K is a policy area that I am passionate about!!!
  

Cons:

• No degree from Penn (they do not have a Masters/certification for early childhood ed)
• Less rigorous?
  
• While I have more experience with Pre-K, I have never lead a pre-K classroom by myself.

Middle School
Pros:

• Closer to 5th grade (what I taught this summer)
• Degree from Penn
• I'm going to add this one because there has to be at least one more positive thing about me teaching middle school...

Cons:

• More grading, less free time
• $50.00 taken out of every paycheck for emergency certification
• More Praxis exams to take and pass (blegh)
• Not comfortable with content areas (I would only be teaching math or science)
• No guarantee that I would get science instead of math
• No idea when I'll get a job.
  

So clearly I am leaning toward Pre-K...the question becomes, how important is a degree from Penn? What are your thoughts?

Finding a Balance

I am not teaching to save children. They would be the first to tell you that. Rather, my "mission" (as it were) is to educate them...and hopefully make a difference along the way.

Institute has ended, and summer school has come to a close. I wish I could say I was 100% successful in my mission, but I can't. There is one student in particular, we'll refer to him here by the name of Sean, whom I recommended to be retained in the 5th grade. The worst part is, it is not entirely his fault. He made choices this summer that resulted in my recommendation: for instance, he did not follow directions, he refused to keep his head off the desk, and some days he was flat out defiant. However, when he walked in at the beginning of the summer, he knew that he could not recognize some letters of the alphabet, let alone read. He knew that the other kids were aware of his "special needs." He knew that he might get lost in the shuffle and stress of summer school. And I didn't do anything to prove him wrong.

Sure, I made flash cards for the letters of the alphabet and the consonant sounds he did not know--he just didn't show up when we were supposed to go over them, and I was not allowed to keep him after school for extra support. Unfortunately, that is where most of my effort stopped. I should have remediated worksheets for him. I should have made it clear that I want what is best for him, and to make efforts to ensure he was not humiliated by my extra attention. I could list a thousand things I should have done, but the point is: I didn't. Sean may have failed summer school, but in large part, it is because I failed him. I was not the teacher he needed me to be.

Whenever I think of Sean, I remind myself that I must find a balance...There were as many wonderful moments this summer as there were frustrating moments. Mainly, I think of Rodney--whose name has been changed here, just like Sean's, for protection. Rodney came into summer school at a third grade reading level. As one of our low readers, he was assigned to my small group for reading and literacy. (We had small groups for math/literacy every morning for an hour.) The first time our small group met, he asked, "Ms. Block, did you go to college?" I said I had. He looked at me with solemn seriousness. "Do you think I can go to college someday?" he asked. "Of course," I said. "Rodney, you can do anything you want as long as you work hard and put your mind to it." He smiled, and said his goal for the summer was to read chapter books.

I took the cue and found a chapter book for him to read throughout summer school. Since his difficulty with reading was mainly with comprehension, I also made him a reading journal so that he could write down the main idea of each chapter in the book. Rodney religiously came before school to work on his math or reading. When I tested his reading the last week of summer school, I could barely believe what he had scored. Rodney is now reading at the late fifth grade level. He grew approximately two years in reading this summer, mainly in comprehension.

When I talked to him the last day of summer school to tell him he passed to the 6th grade, he jumped up and hugged me. "Thank you, Ms. Block. Thank you so much." I told him that he did not need to thank me. After all, it was his hard work that had made this possible. "Yeah, but Ms. Block, you showed me that I could do it. You made me pay attention, and you taught me how to read better. That's why I'm thanking you." At the end of the day, we had an open house for parents to see the work their children had accomplished this summer. Both of Rodney's parents came to the event. The first thing on the agenda was for the students to share their goals with the class and parents. Rodney was the first student to go. "My goal is to go to college, just like Ms. Block did," he said. "And now I know that I won't just go to college because I am a good football player. I'm going to go because I'm smart. And I'm going to get there by working hard and paying attention in class."

When he looked at me in the back of the room and smiled, I fought back tears. For every failure, there is at least one success. This summer Sean and Rodney reminded me of that. As I embark on my two-year journey of teaching, I will never forget them or the other ten students in Room 315. Through the best and worst of times this summer, all of them reminded me that we must all find a balance.

I already miss them all...

Holy Crap

Just counted.
Within 4 months (May-September) we will have moved 8 times.
E.I.G.H.T. T.I.M.E.S.
r/

I Made This 3

Ok, so I said I wouldn't post again before Scotland. Guess I was wrong.
I covered my iPod with 3M Paint Protection Film I got from a guy who details cars.
Pretty cool. Almost scratch-proof with minimal added bulk.

I made this pt.2

Jackhammers
Originally uploaded by ninjapants29

I put a custom paint job on my "jackhammer" headphones.
It's the logo for the League of Awesomeness.
If you don't know what that is, you're probably lame.
Or you should just head on over to zefrank.com/theshow
My next missive will probably come from across the Atlantic.

It's All Up to the Raffle

Some classrooms at my school have three children, others have up to eight. Our classroom has twelve children. It really is all up to the raffle.

During our curriculum sessions, some folks share stories about their students. "They never act up!" some say. "They never talk!" say others. My classroom has the opposite issue.

Again--it's all in the raffle.

So we have twelve children, each with baggage, needs for attention, and a story. This blog is going to focus on one child, Lanisha, whose name has been changed here for protection.

Lanisha sticks out in classroom 315 like a sore thumb. She's about one foot taller than me, and due to height, is the largest person in our classroom. She is a beautiful child in her own way, awkward for her own reasons like all of us are. She rarely looks people in the eyes. Sometimes Lanisha has attitude, but it isn't attitude so much as it is insecurity. She is incredibly bright, but she has never been told that before.

This week, Lanisha was consistently late to school. We have math/literacy hour in the morning, where we break into small groups to meet individual student's needs. Lanisha would come in, sit down, and immediately get to work. On Wednesday, she wandered into our classroom almost an hour late, dripping with angst. When I had her for writing class that day after lunch, she continuously put her head down, and in return, I would continuously tell her (verbally and non-verbally) to pick her head up. None of these children can afford to fall asleep in class. Literally in two seconds, when I had turned to write on the board and turned back, Lanisha was asleep. I put my arm on her shoulder and she jumped up. The entire class broke into laughter.

"Lanisha, your name is going on the board," I said. "If you continue to put your head down, you will have to stay after school. Remember-if your behavior improves, I can always erase your name."

She ended up staying after school for 15 minutes. While she didn't act up again in my class, her day's angst resurfaced in the class after mine. Here we were after school, me with the timer, Lanisha still trying to fall asleep.

With a few minutes of her 15 left, I pulled up a chair next to her. "Lanisha, what happened today? Why did you have to stay 15 minutes after class?"

"I fell asleep in your class, because I was tired."

"Why were you tired?" I asked.

"Because my dad had friends over that were botherin' me 'till 4 a.m."

I told Lanisha that if she was tired during my class, she should raise her hand so that I could have her erase the board or pass out papers to get out of her seat and help her wake up. Then I said something she had either never heard or never believed:

"Lanisha," for the first time, she looked me in the eyes. "You are so smart." Tears began to stream down her face. "It is important that you stay awake in class so that you can learn even more and help me teach the other kids." She nodded, more tears streaming down her face, and I handed her a tissue. She gathered her stuff and went home.

The next morning, she came in late again. Instead of angst, she had brought attitude to school. She acted out the entire morning, which meant she had to sit silently by herself at lunch. I have her after lunch. When my students lined up to re-enter my classroom silently, I looked away for two seconds and Lanisha was gone. She had left the school building.

To follow procedure, I had to notify my faculty advisor, who notified the principal, who notified the police department. Lanisha was missing. Her mother left work to go home and look for her. Her siblings were worried sick. And as for me, I was so sick to my stomach that I don't know how I remained calm throughout my class period.

When an hour-and-a-half had passed, the phone in my classroom rang. Lanisha was home safe. After class, several students came up to me to tell me what happened. All of their stories matched up: a few kids in class had been making fun of Lanisha for the holes in her pants. Their words were so hurtful that Lanisha had been crying on the way to my class after lunch. That is what stung the most: she didn't leave school because she was mad and defiant. She left school because she was humiliated and didn't feel safe.

I wasn't sure I would ever see Lanisha again. But halfway through math/literacy hour on Friday, she came into class. I greeted her and said, "I'm so happy that you are here." I had made everyone writing folders for our class this week, and on Thursday I wrote each student a note on a post-it that they would see when they first opened their folder. Lanisha's said, "I really missed you in class today. Can we talk during writer's workshop?"

We talked in the hallway. "Lanisha, I missed you so much yesterday," I said, "and it's not just that I missed you. I was worried sick about you. What happened?"

"They were makin' fun the way back from lunch 'cause I had holes in my pants," she said.

"Did that hurt your feelings?" I asked. She nodded "yes". "I know that I have to be strict in class to make sure everyone learns, but I hope you know how much I really care about you, Lanisha. You are one of our smartest students, and class just wasn't the same without you." She began to cry. "I hope you know that I would never let that happen to you in my class. And if anything goes on outside of the classroom, whether it is at home or at school, that you need to talk about, please know you can come to me."

Lanisha was crying hard at this point, so I handed her a tissue. "So what are you going to do if this happens again?"

She looked straight into my eyes, tears still coming out of hers, and said, "I will come to you, Ms. Block, because you actually care about me." We waited a couple of seconds for her to collect herself, and then we re-entered the classroom.

On Friday afternoons, the two other teachers in my classroom and I draw a raffle ticket out of the basket for a prize. Students earn their raffle tickets with good behavior. This time, it was my turn to choose the raffle ticket...

"And the winner is...." I said, the classroom bursting with excitement, "Lanisha!"

I had drawn Lanisha's ticket. For a second, the class was silent. Then everyone jumped out of their chairs cheering for her. "Lanisha! You got it, girl!" Lanisha stoically rose from her chair, posing for the gun show. We handed her her prize bag, and she peeked in, careful to not expose it to the rest of the class. When the class was silent again, they lined up to go home.

Lanisha looked at me as she left the classroom, and smiled like I had never seen her smile before. It all really is up to the raffle, whether it's what students are in your class or whether they win a prize.

I couldn't be happier that Lanisha won the raffle, in both senses.

A Metaphor for TFA Institute (TM)

Aha!
I remembered.
Good thing it warrants its own post.

So I came up with a brilliant metaphor for the TFA Institute.
It's for sale to the highest bidder, should anyone be interested.

So here it is:

TFA is like the forging of a sword.
(ok, this statement is a simile. The whole thing is probably more accurately called a conceit... which sounds better too...)

First, the blacksmith selects the metal to be used for the sword.
Many pieces are reviewed, and the few that fit the rigorous standards required are brought into the shop.
Any one of these chunks of metal could be a sword, of this the blacksmith is sure.
The metal rods are shoved into the blazing hot furnace.
Once they're red-hot, the blacksmith removes them and pounds on them with a hammer.
Then it's back to the fire.
Inevitable, some of the pieces break and are set aside to form other quality goods.
The chunks of metal that survive the process become finely honed instruments that are exceptionally suited an effective in their purpose.

And that's how you make a college graduate into a teacher!

r/

All the news that fits... or something

Before you start reading, start my playlist over there on the right.
Go ahead.
I'll wait.
...
Aren't those purty sounds?
I thought so.
Let's continue:

I don't really feel like being that creative, so here are updates about life in the order in which I remember them:

Still pretty much a bum.
Trying to correct this.
See project idea below.

Meg and I got pre-approval for a mortgage.
I looked at a whole bunch of properties last friday.
Meg and I looked at the two best prospects.
And we may be making an offer on one as early as tomorrow.
So we're like, grown up and junk.
I should probably be pretty freaked out about this...
It'll come.

I should probably let her tell you, but Meg was accepted to Penn for her Masters in Edumacation through TFA.
Like there were any doubts. Pssh.

We randomly made friends with a couple we saw at a sushi joint in Center City last Wednesday. We saw them there as they were finishing and then ran into them at a superb gelato joint on the corner.
Anyways, they invited us to sit down.
We had a really long conversation.
Turns out we're pretty similar couples.
We exchanged communication protocol addresses and such.
So yeah. We made random friends in the city. Who knew?
(And they're non-tiffahs - yay!)

Coming soon to a blog near you, the sketch-a-day project!
...if I ever get started.
It's not like there's not lots of interesting things to sketch in the dorm room or anything.
Not the least bit clinical or squared off or anything.

Pretty sure I'm forgetting something, but this post is plenty long already.

r/

Practice Beyond Perfection

The first week of teaching is over, and I have discovered one important, undeniable fact: I am nowhere near perfect at teaching. So when our sessions this week revolved around "practicing beyond perfection," all I could think of was, "Don't we need to worry about getting to perfection before we can practice beyond it?" Just a thought.

So...I practiced. I practiced writing my lesson plans. I practiced not getting enough sleep so that I could revise my lesson plans. I practiced teaching fifth graders. And in the midst of all of this, I practiced sanity.

Although, I'm not sure practicing sanity worked...because even when my students gave me the biggest attitude I have ever dealt with, even when they would not stop laughing during class, and even when one of them kept nodding off on Tuesday morning, I realized how much I love these kids. I love them, and I hardly know them. I'm not sure how sane that is.

For the past week, we have also practiced giving kids tests. We gave them diagnostics to see where they all are with reading, spelling, and math. We give them assessments after each lesson.

When we tested one student's reading, we also practiced fighting back tears and anger. His reading level is so low that we do not even have cards to test him. We're not even sure he can recognize all of the letters of the alphabet. And the most infuriating part is that he's in fifth grade! He is ten years old and he cannot even read on the first grade level. How did this happen?

Of course, not all moments of teaching are heartbreaking. On Thursday I realized my lesson on the main idea of a story had fallen flat, so I spent all night rewriting Friday's lesson plan to hammer in the concept. After talking to Bobbie, my insightful aunt and teaching hero, I decided the reason they weren't getting my lesson was because it didn't apply to anything in their lives. Why should they care about outer space when most of them do not get enough food every day? So I spent Thursday night writing sentences and paragraphs that included the kids' names. On Friday, as I was passing these out to students, smiles crossed their faces. One student raised her hand, "Ms. Block! You wrote about US!" I said, "Of course I did. I realized you guys don't care about outer space, and neither do I. What I care about is all of you, so that is what we are going to read about today." Needless to say, they learned how to find the main idea of a paragraph, and I learned the main idea of teaching: showing kids that you care.

I haven't been the only one practicing this week. Before lunch every day, I have had the class practice lining up in a certain amount of time. (Yes, I time them.) At the end of the class on Friday, one student asked if we were going to practice lining up again today. I said, "Of course! Can someone tell me what the fastest time has been this week?" Everyone yelled, "Twenty seconds!" "Oh! Raise your hands!" One student raised her hands and gave me the answer. "Exactly. 20 seconds. I think you can make it in 18 seconds today, what do you think?" "Yeah! Yeah!" "All right," I said. "Let's do this. Remember, you have to be perfectly quiet to line up." Silence. I dismissed people to line up.

This time, they made it in 16 seconds. "Congratulations! You all made it in 16 seconds!," I said. "I'll see you on Monday!" "Wait," said one student. "We won't see you again today?" "No," I said. "You have Ms. Munford and Mr. Connor next block." "But! But!" said several members of the class. "Oh, you'll have fun. Have a great weekend! I'll miss you guys!"

As all of them waved back to me, I realized that practicing to perfection and beyond--whether it's writing lesson plans or lining up for lunch--is not such a bad thing after all.

I made this

Here's a couple of things I've made recently. First, whole wheat pasta with a bit of olive oil, parm-romano, mozzarella and basil chiffonade accompanied by baked'n'grilled chicken and seared portabello slices Second, a couple of visual aids for Meg's class today. They're working on the long 'a' sound as in blue jay and train. Other than that, I'm kind of a bum.

"Welcome to our faculty, Ms. Block."

The auditorium is silent as we listen to our School Director, Ellen. It's Thursday afternoon, and we are exhausted. Even so, she has us hanging on every word.

"The first day I began teaching, a veteran teacher shared this quote with me, and it has become my mantra ever since," Ellen said. The quote pops up on the projector, and she begins reading: "Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us...Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you...And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

She pauses, and I fight back tears. I cannot remember the last time I was this exhausted and inspired all at once.

Ellen looks back at us and says, "I cannot wait until Monday morning when a K-8 student comes up to me to ask who his or her teacher is, and I get to point at one of you...Please exit the auditorium. We have a surprise for you in the hallway."

We silently exit the auditorium, only to find our TFA faculty lining the hallways. "Thank you, Ms. Block," the first person says. "Congratulations, Ms. Block," says another. Ellen takes her place in line and shakes my hand, "Welcome to our faculty, Ms. Block," she says.

I'm faculty now. And on Monday, when a fifth grader asks Ellen who his or her teacher is, she will get to point at me.

heeheehee

heeheehee
Originally uploaded by ninjapants29

I amuse myself too much sometimes...
Also, check out my new photostream over at Flickr. You can find me as ninjapants29 over there

From the City of Independence to the State of Independence...

It's great to be back in Philly.

By great, I really mean terrifying. I've only been here for three days, and the pressure is already settling on my shoulders. Institute starts next week, teaching starts the week after that. No house. Not enough sleep. No time to let it all hit me. Just the constant flow of energy from fellow TFA corps members reminding me what potential we have and what change we can bring to this beautiful place.

During the brief moments that I have time to reflect on all of the life-altering events that are currently taking place or have taken place (graduation, moving, teaching, getting married, etc....), I find myself at either one of two extremes: content or anxious. And feeling either is determined by how exhausted I am.

I can't believe I will have a class in front of me in a little over a week. Baptism by fire, here we come.

Navigationamaton

So I already have a pretty good handle on the city.
And city driving.
City driving relies on one key component: being able to say fuck it and take the lane, space or turn you need regardless of who or what is in your way.
They don't deserve it anyways.
You're doing them a favor by taking away their option to be where your car is now.
If you wait, you'll wait forever.
It's also hard to be nice to people on the road - they aren't expecting it so you both end up wasting time.

I have an appointment with a realtor in the morning. Crazy stuff. I'm like grown up and stuff.

Oh, and I got a Dork Squad call sign tonight.
I think that means I've been officially adopted.

The beginning

We have arrived...
I think this is going to be great.
Still exhausted from the drive.
Watch this space for chronicles of the house/job hunt and adventures in teaching with pants aflame.

r/